Chapter 9 — The Missing Mother
Chapter 9 — The Missing Mother
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
I stared at Arthur.
Arthur stared at the floor.
My mother was crying.
And somewhere inside me, something that had survived twenty years of lies finally cracked.
“Say it again.”
My mother shook her head.
“I can't.”
“Say it.”
Arthur lifted his eyes.
“Cassidy…”
“Did you sleep with my mother?”
His silence answered first.
Then he said:
“Yes.”
The word landed harder than any confession I had heard that night.
I stepped backward.
My shoulder hit the wall.
Arthur moved toward me.
I raised my hand.
“Don't.”
He stopped.
My mother covered her face.
I looked at her.
“You knew?”
She nodded.
“You knew Arthur was Brendan's father?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me marry him?”
“I thought—”
“You thought what?”
“That if you stayed close to him, we could protect you.”
I laughed.
It sounded nothing like laughter.
“You put the man who destroyed my life inside it.”
“I didn't know he would become this.”
“You knew what he was.”
“No.”
“You knew.”
She started crying harder.
Arthur finally spoke.
“I was responsible for Brendan's existence.”
I turned toward him.
“You were his father.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you let him believe Richard was his father?”
“Because Richard agreed.”
“Why?”
Arthur's expression became hollow.
“Because Richard was dying.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Richard had been poisoned.”
My mother's head snapped up.
“You told me he died in an accident.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because the people hunting him were watching you.”
My mother whispered:
“You said the poison was accidental.”
Arthur looked at her.
“It wasn't.”
Silence.
I felt sick.
“So Richard didn't die in an accident.”
“No.”
“He was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
Arthur looked at me.
“We never found out.”
I stared at him.
“You never found out?”
“No.”
“Then why did you blame my mother?”
“Because she knew the person who did it.”
My mother went pale.
I turned toward her.
“Who?”
She couldn't answer.
Arthur did.
“Marianne Vale.”
The Woman Who Survived
The name seemed to make the room colder.
“Richard's sister?”
Arthur nodded.
“She wanted the Vale Trust.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard had removed her from it.”
“Why?”
“Fraud.”
My mother shook her head.
“Richard discovered that Marianne had been stealing from him.”
Arthur continued.
“She created shell companies. Moved assets. Forged signatures.”
I looked at the old documents.
“So this began before Brendan.”
“Long before.”
“And Marianne created Northstar?”
“No.”
“She infiltrated it.”
“How?”
“Through Richard.”
I stared at him.
“Then why did she want me?”
“Because Richard changed his trust.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
My mother whispered:
“He made you the sole beneficiary.”
I closed my eyes.
Everything was suddenly clear.
The company wasn't the prize.
I was.
The trust wasn't merely money.
It was control.
And my identity had been hidden because whoever controlled my identity controlled the inheritance.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
My mother looked at me.
“Because the moment you knew, you became a target.”
“I was already a target.”
“I know.”
Her voice broke.
“I know now.”
The Missing Years
I looked at the old archive.
“Where were you all these years?”
My mother wiped her face.
“Moving.”
“From whom?”
“Marianne.”
“Why?”
“Because she knew I was alive.”
“Then why did you come back?”
“Because I knew you were in danger.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't come back.”
“What?”
“You watched.”
My mother looked down.
“You watched me marry Brendan.”
“Yes.”
“You watched him humiliate me.”
“Yes.”
“You watched him take my company.”
“I tried to stop him.”
“From where?”
“From the shadows.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You were protecting me from the shadows while I was drowning in front of everyone.”
She flinched.
I regretted the words immediately.
But I didn't take them back.
“I needed my mother.”
“I know.”
“I needed someone to tell me I wasn't crazy.”
“I know.”
“I needed someone to tell me that what Brendan was doing wasn't normal.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“I was afraid.”
I stared at her.
“My mother was afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Of Marianne?”
“Of what she would do to you.”
I shook my head.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“Then why are you still alive?”
My mother froze.
I understood before she answered.
“You made a deal.”
She looked away.
“What did you promise her?”
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
Silence.
“What did you promise?”
My mother finally whispered:
“My disappearance.”
The Bargain
Twenty years ago, after Richard died, Marianne approached my mother.
She knew about me.
She knew about the trust.
She knew that Richard had named me beneficiary.
She also knew that Arthur was Brendan's father.
Marianne offered my mother a choice.
Disappear forever.
Or watch me disappear too.
My mother chose to vanish.
“She threatened to take you.”
“Legally?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“She had people everywhere.”
Police.
Lawyers.
Doctors.
Bankers.
Security contractors.
People who could make someone disappear without leaving a trace.
My mother fled.
But before she left, she made one mistake.
She told Arthur the truth.
“I told him about Brendan.”
Arthur looked at me.
“I knew he was my son.”
“Then why did you abandon him?”
“Because Marianne had him.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She took Brendan when he was four.”
My mother nodded.
“She raised him.”
Arthur's jaw tightened.
“She taught him to hate me.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted him to become useful.”
I felt sick.
“So Brendan wasn't born cruel.”
“No.”
“Then who made him that way?”
My mother whispered:
“Marianne.”
The Boy in the Photograph
I remembered the photograph.
Brendan at eight.
Standing beside Richard.
I pulled it from my pocket.
“This photograph.”
My mother looked at it.
“Where was it taken?”
“Northstar.”
“Why was Brendan there?”
“Richard knew the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That Brendan wasn't his son.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Then why was he with him?”
“Because Richard loved him.”
I couldn't speak.
My mother continued.
“Richard wanted to adopt Brendan.”
“But he died.”
“Yes.”
“And Marianne took him.”
“Yes.”
“Then Brendan grew up believing Richard was his father.”
“Yes.”
“Until Marianne told him the truth.”
“She told him whatever she needed him to believe.”
I understood.
Brendan's entire life had been constructed around a lie.
He had been taught to hate Arthur.
He had been taught that Richard's death was someone else's fault.
He had been taught that the Vale Trust belonged to him.
And when Marianne discovered that Richard had left everything to me—
she sent Brendan to marry me.
My stomach turned.
“I was his target from childhood.”
“Yes.”
“Not his wife.”
“No.”
“A key.”
My mother nodded.
“A key.”
The Disappearance
Suddenly, the house shook.
A deep boom came from outside.
Arthur grabbed his weapon.
“What was that?”
Another explosion.
The windows rattled.
My mother screamed.
Arthur moved toward the basement entrance.
“Stay here.”
I followed.
“No.”
He turned.
“Cassidy.”
“I'm done staying behind.”
A third explosion sounded.
The power went out.
Then the alarm began screaming.
Arthur checked his phone.
“We've been found.”
“By Marianne?”
“Likely.”
My mother grabbed my hand.
“There's another exit.”
“Where?”
“Behind the cellar.”
Arthur looked at her.
“You never told me about that.”
“I never trusted you enough.”
He nodded once.
“Fair.”
We ran.
The basement door opened into a tunnel.
But before we could enter, headlights appeared outside.
Vehicles.
Several.
My heart raced.
Arthur looked through a narrow window.
“Three SUVs.”
“How many people?”
“Eight.”
My mother whispered:
“Marianne.”
A voice came through the loudspeaker outside.
“Eleanor!”
My mother froze.
The voice was female.
Cold.
Controlled.
“Come outside.”
My mother stepped toward the window.
Arthur stopped her.
“No.”
The voice continued.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
My mother whispered:
“Brendan.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Marianne doesn't want you.”
“She wants Brendan.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows where the trust documents are.”
I frowned.
“You said the documents were here.”
“Some are.”
“What's missing?”
My mother looked at me.
“The original trust.”
The Original Trust
I understood immediately.
“If Marianne gets the original…”
“She can challenge the ownership.”
“And my signature?”
“She needs both.”
I stared at Arthur.
“How long?”
“Seventy-two hours.”
“It's already started.”
“Yes.”
“Then where is the trust?”
Arthur looked toward the tunnel.
“Richard hid it.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
My mother said:
“I do.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“You know?”
She nodded.
“Richard told me once.”
“Where?”
She looked at me.
“He said he hid it where no one would ever think to search.”
“Where?”
“In the place where you were born.”
I froze.
“The hospital?”
She nodded.
“St. Catherine's.”
Arthur's face changed.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“St. Catherine's was demolished fifteen years ago.”
My mother smiled sadly.
“Not all of it.”
The Hospital
We escaped through the tunnel.
The three of us reached an old garage behind the estate.
Arthur had a second vehicle hidden there.
We drove without headlights.
Chicago disappeared behind us.
I watched the clock.
2:41 a.m.
Only a few hours until sunrise.
Arthur called someone.
“Get a team to St. Catherine's.”
I interrupted.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“We don't know who we can trust.”
Arthur nodded.
“Then we'll go alone.”
My mother sat silently beside me.
I looked at her.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“When you disappeared…”
She looked at me.
“Did you ever stop loving me?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Never.”
“Then why didn't you come back?”
“Because every time I tried, someone died.”
I swallowed.
“Who?”
“People who helped me.”
She looked out the window.
“Your mother isn't brave, Cassidy.”
I reached for her hand.
“You survived.”
She squeezed my fingers.
“Sometimes surviving is just another word for being too afraid to die.”
I looked ahead.
The city lights grew brighter.
We were almost there.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Brendan.
His voice was barely audible.
“Cassidy.”
“Where are you?”
“I don't know.”
“What do you mean?”
“They took me.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
“Marianne.”
I looked at Arthur.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Brendan, listen to me.”
“I need you to believe me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I finally know the truth.”
“What truth?”
He breathed heavily.
“Marianne isn't my mother.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She kidnapped me.”
My blood went cold.
“What are you saying?”
“She isn't related to me.”
“Then who is she?”
“I don't know.”
“Brendan—”
“Cassidy.”
His voice broke.
“She killed Richard.”
I froze.
“Why?”
“Because he knew who she really was.”
“Who?”
A long silence.
Then Brendan whispered:
“Your mother.”
I stared at Eleanor.
She had gone completely still.
“What?”
“Marianne isn't Richard's sister.”
My mother covered her mouth.
“She stole that identity.”
“Then who is she?”
Brendan whispered:
“She was your mother's best friend.”
I looked at my mother.
Her face had gone white.
“What was her name?”
Brendan answered.
“Vivian Cross.”
The call suddenly became muffled.
A woman's voice appeared in the background.
Then Brendan screamed.
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Arthur stepped on the accelerator.
“What happened?”
I looked at him.
“Marianne isn't Marianne.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“She was Vivian.”
Arthur's expression hardened.
“Vivian Cross.”
“You know her?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
Arthur looked at me.
“The woman who disappeared with your mother twenty years ago.”
St. Catherine's
We reached the abandoned hospital just before dawn.
The building was surrounded by construction fencing.
Most of it had been demolished.
Only the original underground wing remained.
My mother led us through a broken service entrance.
We descended three floors.
The air smelled of dust and rust.
“This is where I gave birth to you,” she said.
I touched the wall.
“You remember?”
“Every detail.”
She stopped outside a sealed room.
“Here.”
Arthur examined the door.
“No lock.”
“Then why is it sealed?”
My mother pointed toward the floor.
There was a small metal plate.
Arthur removed it.
Underneath was a key.
I took it.
The room opened.
Inside was almost nothing.
One metal chair.
One cabinet.
One old hospital bed.
And a safe embedded in the wall.
My heart began pounding.
Arthur tried the key.
It fit.
The safe opened.
Inside was a single envelope.
My name was written across it.
CASSIDY ELEANOR HART.
I opened it.
The first page was the original trust.
The second was a letter from Richard.
And the third contained a photograph.
I looked at it.
My mother screamed.
Arthur went pale.
The photograph showed three people.
Richard.
My mother.
And Vivian Cross.
But the woman standing beside them was holding a newborn baby.
Me.
On the back, Richard had written:
Vivian is not who she says she is.
Underneath:
She is the reason I will die.
I stared at the words.
Then another sentence caught my eye.
If I die, do not trust Arthur.
My hand began to shake.
Arthur looked at the page.
His face changed.
“What?”
I held it toward him.
He read the sentence.
Then looked at me.
“I can explain.”
My mother stepped backward.
“Arthur…”
He said nothing.
I felt the walls closing around me.
Everyone had lied.
Everyone had hidden something.
And now the dead man had left one final warning.
Do not trust Arthur.
Then my phone buzzed.
A new message.
You found the trust.
A second appeared.
Good.
Then the third.
Now bring it to me.
I stared at the screen.
The sender's name was impossible.
VIVIAN CROSS.
And beneath it was an address.
Not a building.
Not a hotel.
Not an office.
A cemetery.
The exact place where Richard Vale was supposedly buried.
My mother whispered:
“She wants you to come.”
Arthur looked at me.
“It's a trap.”
I folded the trust.
“I know.”
“Then don't go.”
I looked at him.
“I'm going.”
“Cassidy.”
I held his gaze.
“Because for the first time, I know exactly what the trap is.”
Arthur frowned.
“What?”
I looked down at the trust.
“The trap isn't designed to catch me.”
I looked at my mother.
“It's designed to make me choose which person to betray.”
May you like
Then I looked at Arthur.
“And I'm going to make them all regret giving me a choice.”
